Suicide Watch
by Harp Strumming Choirboy
Summary: "You will meet people, who you will get close to... and they will go away. But that's life... you cannot control everything within." Implied EdWin, character death, suicidal theme.


**Suicide Watch**

**Rating: **T _for mentions of Suicide, language, sheer angst, and a rather dark concept._

**Disclaimer: **_(This runs through the whole story, so I don't have to re-type it. Of course.) _I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. If I did, Ed and Winry would've kissed, Al and Mei would have had wedding rings in the picture—too, as well as a baby. Roy and Riza would have implied-relationship and Ling/RanFan would've been DAMN CLEAR.

**A/N: **It's heeere~ :D I swear, on my life, that I'm going to try my damn hardest to make this work. I've already got my plot and a good five chapters planned out. This is going damn well so far. And it's GOING TO WORK.

All right. Ready? Let's get this going. :3

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' '_At this moment there are 6,470,818,671 people in the world. Some are running scared. Some are coming home. Some tell lies to make it through the day. Others are just not facing the truth. Some are evil men, at war with good. And some are good, struggling with evil. Six billion people in the world. Six billion souls. And sometimes.. all you need is one. ' ' – one tree hill_

**A Slip of P****aper**

A slip of paper…

It all started with a slip of paper. Just a slip of paper with simple, barely legible handwriting. A few cuts randomly scattered around the note, and a few drops of blood around the edges that bled through to the back of the simple copy-paper. All that it bore was a very specific address and a name. Nothing more, nothing less.

25 _Johnson Rose Street, East City, Eastern Province, Amestris_

_- __The Tailor_.

Two glances was all it took. One at the paper, and one at a folder labeled _Case file 26_ before I bolted. The questions ran. Yes, oh yes they ran. They ran like mice from cats, cats from dogs, dogs from men, and men from other men. They streaked across my mind like firecrackers.

Why would he give us, the military, his location? After all, he is a murderer. One I myself am assigned to, and he happened to put the note on my desk? How did he get into East City's headquarters, anyway? All of those questions were answered when I opened the door to 25 _Johnson Rose Street._

~ s w ~

I watched the books as they teetered in my single, metal hand. Swaying slightly as I inched my opposite arm toward the door handle. I gave the silver object a quick twist, my left leg (also metal) a quick flick, and the door came open. I swung my arm up and clapped my hand onto the top of the stack and strode in, smiling as brightly as my day was bound to be. I had plans, oh yes, amazing plans.

'Good morning, everyone!' I cheered as I walked to my desk, a bit of a spring in my step.

'Good morning, Edward.' Riza replied with a warm smile, eyes sweeping the office before landing back on myself. The office gave their similar replies as the moved around the desks and bookshelves, conversing about some mission in a place called "England".

'Fullmetal? Ah, welcome back.' Mustang's voice, I grimaced before shaking my head and wiping the expression away, setting the books on my desk and shifting through the papers that laid there. A speck of red caught my eye, and I raised an eyebrow, going for the reddened corner of a piece of paper.

'Yo, General Bastard.' I replied. Looking back up, as I pulled the note free, to make eye-contact with my dark-eyed superior as he strode through the door.

'Have a nice lunch break? How long've you been here? I might not have seen you behind all of those books and papers. Wondrous that your uniform even fits you.' He jabbed, a smirk setting across his face.

I yawned. 'I'm not going to let you ruin my day, Mustang. It's going to be a good one.' I sent the man a short glare and flexed my Automail hand. I rolled my eyes as his face fell slightly in disappointment.

Jean piped up from across the room. 'Going out with that pretty Resembool blonde and your brother for Al's birthday, right?'

I brightened slightly, giving a wide grin. 'Yep! First one back in his real body. Seven years since he's had birthday cake!~' I paused for a second. 'Rather, eight. We… err… committed before his birthday rolled around…'

'Well,' Kain began, trying to tear the dialog away from that subject. 'Tell him "Happy Birthday" for us, will you?'

I grinned happily again. 'Sure thing!' I stated loudly, looking back down and finally getting a chance to look at that odd note. I furrowed my eyebrows at the cuts that slipped through the plain copy paper and widened my eyes at the red spots that- upon flipping over the paper- appeared to bleed through.

_Blood?_ I asked myself, bringing the note to my nose. It smelled like blood. Fresh blood, too.

I pulled the note from my nozzle and read the words over.

25 _Johnson Rose Street, East City, Eastern Province, Amestris_

_- The Tailor_

'The Tailor?' I mumbled thoughtfully. It sounded so familiar…

'Ah, researching your latest murder case, Chief?' Jean answered from across the room, shaking his head. 'I looked over the file before Captain Hawkeye here set it on your desk this morning. Sick bastard, seems like. Alchemized blades into his own knuckles? Sounds like some sort of creepy horror book I've read.'

Mustang didn't seem to notice my stiffening before he commented with a roll of the eyes. 'The word is "Transmuted", Havoc, and we don't know if he did it himself or if he was just someone's fucked up experiment…' he paused, shrugging. 'Yeah, though, seems like a sick-enough dick-head to me. What were you telling me earlier, Falman? Something about notes…'

I kept my eyes fixed on the paper in my now-shaking hand. _N-notes?_

'He sends notes to his victims' loved ones, telling them the locations of their bodies. From our deductions of the corpses, there would be a gap between the first victims' deaths to the other's. Upon checking the latter's body, those in charge of the body-retrieval usually have a note on them stating only an incredibly specific address and a signature. Including the house number, street name, city, province, our country's name - Even though all of the murders have been in East City so far- and "The Tailor". We've only got one good description of him, he seems crazed, and bares scissor-like blades on his knuckles. We have yet to receive a good explanation as to why he calls himself "The Tailor" other than his skinning of the first ten people he got in.' Falman replied, long-winded as always.

The incredibly specific—only containing an address and name—note fell from my fingers to the floor and I glanced from the note to the case file, and back up to the rest of the office, all looking at me with odd expressions.

'Fullmetal…?'

_BANG!_ My left foot's heel struck the side of my desk as I turned and bolted, practically flying out the door and down the steps, taking them five at a time. I dashed from the building and paused at the front steps to look both ways down the street.

_Johnson Rose Street_

Right next to East City's military building?

Questions ran, as I sprinted across the street. Horns blaring as I sprang over the curb and down the side walk, pushing people out of my way mindlessly and violently.

Why would he give us, the military, his location? After all, he is a murderer. One I myself am assigned to, and he happened to put the note on _my_ desk? How did he get into East City's headquarters, anyway?

It was all answered, every question, as I opened the door and I was met with the worst sight of my life.

_Too late_.

I stared through wide, shocked, blurry eyes at the corpses. Huddled back to back with gruesome, deep slices through their bodies. My little brother, and the love of my life.

A choke caught in my throat, and I let out a loud sob, the door swung away from my limp hand to bang against the wall beside the door.

Oh, yes. The questions were answered. Rather simply, all of them, with one sentence.

_It doesn't matter anymore._

Always too late. Why am I always too late? For Nina and Alexander, and now for Al and Winry? Why? Isn't that always the question? "Why"?

All I could think about is that I never got to tell my little brother, my _seventeen year old little brother_ that _today was his birthday_. I never got to tell him "Happy Birthday! Alphonse!". I never got to tell Winry, my beautiful, talented, _amazing_ mechanic that I loved her more than life itself.

I never got to tell either of them what was important. I never did, and I never will.

Always too late. Always. I was too late to save the two most important people in my life, and I was too busy sobbing to notice the quiet '_snip, snip, snip_'ing of blades before it was too late.

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A / N: Nice, first chapter and there's already a cliffhanger.

I'm so nice… so, so nice.

Oh god, it's so short, too. D: But the next will be longer most likely! :D


End file.
